


chew

by borealvalley



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Ben is basically a Bioshock big daddy when it comes to Rey, Captivity, Death, F/M, Gore, Possessive Kylo Ren, Reference to Rape, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Southern Ben, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Zombies, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealvalley/pseuds/borealvalley
Summary: Ben has made many mistakes in his life, and has the scars to prove it. 'Enlisting' a fifteen year old girl in his trek across the battered American South is not one of them- in fact, it's his best idea yet.Despite being held captive by an emotionally unstable giant, Rey feels confident in her inevitable escape.Soon, they both find they are ill-equipped to deal with their new companions.





	1. panther

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in October (cuz zombies) when I first joined ao3, but didn't feel like it was at a place to share it until now.

Texas, 2097

She'd been trailing him for three days, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He was easy to follow, even when she couldn't see him. The purr of his motorcycle echoed in the deserted streets, like a giant cat calling for her company. 

 

How foolish, she'd initially thought, to use such a loud vehicle. Better to sneak, climb and swing to safe places, like Rey preferred. No doors to protect from the yearning dead, no seat belt to help in an accident. He wore a full face helmet, so that was something, but a helmet wouldn't help him if hungry jaws managed to sink into his exposed body. His every move across this barebones county was telegraphed by the screaming panther that was his ride, as if he dared any opposition to try him.

 

Incredibly cocky, she thought. But then at the river he'd removed that leather jacket, the one clothing item aside from his steel toe boots that stood a chance against teeth, and she understood. Silvery scars criss crossed his pale skin and continued beneath the white shirt that was too small for his wide frame. From a distance he didn't seem so much a challenge- anyone who so willingly declared their presence in today's world would surely meet an early end. But here, hidden within the underbrush and the rush of water, she safely observed the man who had survived many struggles. He was not one to be underestimated. 

 

Also notable was the weapon he wore on his hip opposite to his pistol, now laid across the black leather seat of his motorcycle. She'd originally guessed it was some type of club or maybe a walking stick. It was a fucking _sword_. 

 

She cursed herself for following such an anomaly, but his gear had tempted her when he opened the pack behind his seat. He was _loaded_. She had a meager amount of food hidden at the record store she’d called home for eight years, but it would only last a couple days. The red hunting knife on his hip appealed to her. Stylish _and_ sharp. It could be hers, if only the chance presented itself. So she waited, unwilling to give up her endeavor. Her wasted time had to be worth it.

 

And present itself it did. That morning she woke from her perch on a tall oak just in time to see him leave the abandoned house he had cleared. They were nearing the town center, where she had seen a horde meandering the parking lots three days prior and thought against the risk of trying those stores. He sputtered and screamed down the road towards the strip mall and she followed suit. He would either grow a brain and leave or die there, and she could take her pickings once his bones were thoroughly cleaned over. 

 

But when Rey arrived, weaving between dumpsters and climbing a maintenance ladder onto a rocky rooftop, there was no such sight. It was complete carnage. 

 

He was slashing through the throng of decay with his sword, kicking rotting skulls apart with heavy boots. His swings were brutal but fluid, the long sword an extension of his giant arms. Body parts were cleaved easily by the sharp blade, dropping to the heated pavement in a gory trail. When the throng lessened from twenty to three, he slapped the flat of his blade on a metal door frame, and more dead trickled from the smashed open storefront, and his slaughter continued. 

 

He moved to the third store, watching the group of dead while whacking on the window with his crossguard, when a rotting arm grabbed his shoulder, pulling him flush with the window. The man's hand lashed out and his knife was embedded in the zombie's skull. The body slumped against the shattered window pane and he shifted to remove the knife. But there were too many pushing in, even for this massive man, and he was forced to leave his knife behind. Rey skated across the connected rooftops, stopping just above the alley he was guiding the horde to. He cleaved at reaching arms but kept his distance, his hand hovering over the pistol at his side. He was debating using it, but ammo was too precious now. 

 

Rey shook the tremor from her fingers that came from being in such close proximity with infected. She waited until the horde had emptied into the alley before dropping on top of a van and slipping to the boiling pavement. There were a few stragglers on the walkway, but they were slower than her. She rushed for the storefront, her prize in sight. She didn't have much time- the man had undoubtedly already killed half of the dead pursuing him. She weaved around a pair of grasping arms and swung her staff at the zombie's knees. It fell with a crack and continued crawling to her at a snail's pace. When her fingers curled around the red hilt she allowed herself to feel elated. She tugged at the blade. Tugged again.

 

It wouldn't come out. He'd embedded it to the hilt in brain soup and now it refused to give. She braced an old sneaker against the window frame and pulled with all her might. There was movement, but the head popped off the body with it.

 

_Fuck._

 

She could hear the rasping breath of a nearing straggler. She dropped the knife and its new friend on the pavement and stomped furiously on the head. The skull caved and then crackled, disgusting fluid coating the top of her sneaker as it sank into the crater. Rey pressed her foot down and grasped the knife in sweaty fingers and pulled one last time. The skull gave with a squelch just as a shout echoed in the clearing.

 

“Hey!” the man bellowed. 

 

His sword bounced in his hand before downing another zombie, now heading straight towards her. Dark eyes pinned her with fury. The hiss behind her became too loud and she twisted, cracking her staff across its snarling head. It was a fresher body and simply stumbled forward, dangerously close to grabbing the collar of her jacket. She dipped and rolled behind it, grabbing the dirty knife before sliding across the hood of a car. She heard its hiss cut short as the man stalking her sliced it in half. 

 

She rounded the corner and skid to a stop. A small group of walkers were corralled against a metal bar fence, standing like sentinels waiting for any stimulation to prompt their attention. They turned at her appearance, reaching with desperate hands. Her fingers tapped on her thigh, watching them slowly shamble towards her. The fence bars looked wide enough. A tight fit, even for her adolescent body, but doable. The group finally made it within feet of her. Heavy boots stomped behind her and she sprinted towards the opposite brick wall. She thought she felt fingers slip over her messy hair buns. She shoved a straggler away with her staff before tossing it through the bars and squirming through. Her belt buckle caught and she sucked in her tummy, shimmying between the bars. She yelped when she was yanked backwards into the fence. Long fingers were fisted in her threadbare jacket.

 

“Where the fuck d’you think you're going, huh?” the giant spat. 

 

His voice was hoarse and wild. His dark shoulder length hair was barely contained in a half updo, tendrils matted against his sweaty forehead. Angry brown eyes met hers. She panicked and slashed at him. The blade sliced through his undershirt and he winced, but his grip tightened. He whirled and stabbed his sword between the eyes of a walker and kicked another, stomping on its face with fervor. She used the distraction to unzip her jacket. Her skin smarted as her arms slipped out of the fabric from the awkward angle. 

 

She tripped on rocks onto her backside, crawling away from the fence as the man growled and tossed her sweater to the ground. The last walker grabbed his leather clad arm and he sliced through its spinal cord. He sheathed his sword and jumped, grabbing the lip of the fence with his impossibly long arms. She sprinted to the woods, heard him crash through the underbrush moments behind her. She spotted the perfect tree- tons of foliage that overlapped with more around it. She leapt and hoisted herself onto the branch and slipped between the split of the trunk, careful not to rustle the leaves. The man slipped to a stop only a few feet away. 

 

Silence as he observed the quiet forest. Twigs snapped under his weight as he shifted. 

 

“I'll find you, monkey,” he called in a singsong voice. It lilted with Appalachian twang. A shudder crept down her spine. He watched the trees, walking slowly beneath the spotty shade.  Minutes passed. He finally stepped closer to her tree- he might be able to see the tips of her sneakers from this angle, but she couldn't risk moving now. His eyes travelled up the trunk, but he whirled at a familiar sputtering sound.

 

“Are you fucking me-”

 

The scream of his motorcycle echoed to them faintly as it was revved. 

 

There was a deep snapping as he ripped the branch she had climbed _off the tree_ , growling a string of curses. And then he was gone.

 

The hand she’d clamped over her mouth dropped. She slipped from her perch, trying to ignore the odd squish of her sock as she bolted to the bridge that lead to her hideout. She could hear the faint hum of the man's motorcycle, but soon the surrounding trees were silent. The walk back home was long in the summer heat, but she smiled at the heavy blade in her hand. She'd _won_. There were a couple places she could break into now that she had it. 

 

It was all uphill from here.


	2. scavenger

This whole fucking trip was going downhill. 

 

California was literal hell- the largest hordes even Ben would hesitate to take on. Take one step, his bike broke down and he had to spend days clearing New Mexico dust from its worn filter. Another step and a fucking child had the audacity to steal from him. One more step towards her with full intention to snap her in two and someone _else_ stole said bike. 

 

Ben's hand trembled with barely concealed fury as he was corralled by a spindly man with a shotgun pointed at his back. It hadn't taken him long to find them- as soon as he found the bridge after checking the mall two strangers, beet red from the sun, emerged with sinister grins. There was something to be said about their confidence in their control over the situation. The man behind him had taken his pistol, but left his sword. He resisted the urge to draw it and slice the man to ribbons, just to show how efficient he could be with _that stick_. He didn't need an army after him while he still had a mission to complete.

 

They continued down a dusty road, hidden from the evening sun under tall shagbark hickories. A collection of squat shops sat at the end of the road, white plaster glaring. A dented Jeep was parked at the front. Around the corner he caught a glimpse of the front tire of his bike. The men stood at attention as they approached.

 

Six in total. Doable, if this turned sour.

 

“Hello, fellas. Hope you're all having a pleasant evening,” Ben said. He was met with hard stares.

 

“It's not often we meet someone willing to do trade. People are mighty greedy nowadays.” The leader spat around the chew in his lip. 

 

Ben nodded. “Hard making friends in these parts.”

 

“I'm Buck, these here are my compatriots from Tennessee. What's your name, friend?”

 

“You can call me Ben Solo,” he said with an easy smile. Deep breaths. 

 

“What's your trade, Ben?”

 

“You took something of mine across the river early this mornin’.”

 

Buck's men visibly tensed. The man grinned with his hands on his hips. His teeth were a waxy yellow hue.

 

“I hope you understand, you weren't around to claim it.”

 

“No hard feelings, Buck. I'd like to trade for my bike back.”

 

“That's a hefty trade. What've you got in return?”

 

A burly man lounging on the hood of a car snorted loudly, and pink cloth beneath his arm caught Ben’s eye. 

 

A girl, that _filthy thief_ , shifted beneath grubby hands, and the man holding her jerked her back in place on his knee by her hair. The red leather of his knife was tucked into the man's back pocket. Her casual layers had been shed, replaced by a simple torn cotton nightgown that swamped her tiny frame. The flinty glare she was digging into her captor’s arm lapsed when her hazel eyes lifted to his. A pink tongue darted to a fresh cut on her lip.

 

Her captor spat around his cigarette and it landed on Ben's boot. The dam broke.

 

He could handle an army.

 

“I’ve changed my mind.”

 

Buck gave a confused laugh before Ben reached the man behind him and cracked the weight of his own shotgun on his forehead. The men shouted in alarm, drawing weapons. Two more had guns. Ben pumped the shotgun and aimed at the one closest to him. The scatter shredded his torso as he cocked his pistol, and he flew into the wall behind him, plaster bits bursting into the air. The next bandit rushed him from behind, nails embedded in his bat. Ben spun and squeezed the trigger. Red sprayed in chunks. He pumped again and squeezed, but nothing came. He discarded it, drawing his sword while diving behind the Jeep to his left as Buck aimed for his head. 

 

“This won't end well for you, Ben Solo,” Buck called. “We got more men comin’ soon, you see. If I'm not here to meet them, you'll be in a tight spot. Hux will wanna know what happened, and he don't stop until he gets what he wants.”

 

Ben heard a shout of pain from one of the men and Buck cursed, firing a shot away from Ben. He seized the moment and rolled from cover, lunging at the short man. His torso stretched and he swung at the outstretched arm that turned to shoot at him. It bit into bone just below his wrist and his handgun dropped to the ground. His hand flopped uselessly, held on by only a few tendons. He screamed.

 

Ben clicked his tongue and grabbed the handgun, checked the remaining rounds. “Hux? The amount of times that weasel has tried to kill me...well, I'm sure nothing's changed.”

 

Buck's eyes widened. “Holy shit, you're Kylo R-”

 

The bullet lodged between his eyes cut him short. His body slumped to the pavement. Wasteful, but it felt good.  The last man turned to run to the tree line, but one more shot rang in the air and he fell.

 

Somehow the girl had managed to scale the roof during the squabble. Hazel eyes peeked over the plaster rooftop. His red hunting knife glinted in her hand. 

 

“Come on down, now,” he called, wiping his sword on Buck's jacket. She shrank back. 

 

Ben sighed and watched the man she'd stabbed clawing his way around the corner near his bike, gun discarded in the dust. Blood streamed from the crook of his neck. He whimpered and begged when Ben pressed a steel toed boot to his neck, slowly crushing his windpipe. The man gurgled and went still. Ben plucked the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, dangled one between his lips as his lighter sparked to life. He sucked in stale nicotine and stepped over the body, relishing the feel of the smooth painted metal of his bike under his gloves. He kicked it to life- and cursed as the engine seized. He glanced at the rooftop.

 

“How about this. You help me with something, I won't kill you for stealing from me earlier.”

 

She had followed him around the corner, watching closely. 

 

“I'll let you keep the knife, too.”

 

She wiped the bloody knife on the nightgown and held it in her teeth before sliding down a drain pipe, landing on the other side of his bike. He took inventory of the seat compartment, ignoring her as she circled him. 

 

Shit. They ate all of his food. 

 

She looked at his bike and tilted her head, then nodded when he raised his brows. He grabbed the handlebars and wheeled his stalled bike into a shadowed corner.

 

“Let's go then.”

 

The ride to the mall was short and quiet, save for the sputtering of the Jeep's dying engine. The girl had found her belongings in the backseat, along with his helmet, and was worrying the metal staff between her tiny fingers. It looked like she had pieced it together herself, the bar made of hollow piping but the ends crafted with combined solid metal. She could bludgeon someone to death if she managed to hit someone's skull with it repeatedly. She still wore the trashed nightgown. She shivered in the cool evening air, eyes flitting to the horizon where the clouds were now a dusty pink.

 

The parking lot was still littered with the bodies of his undead victims. A few stragglers meandered in front of the last store he had yet to clear, an auto repair shop. He made quick work of them by smashing the frame of the Jeep into their soft bodies before screeching to a halt in front of the boarded up windows. All entrances were blocked from the inside, one window just barely propped open. He rapped his knuckles on the glass. The slight moan of a walker echoed, but it sounded like the only one.

 

“Alright, sweetheart, I need something called a spark plug. They're small. If you see any copper wiring-”

 

By the time he turned to her half her body had already wriggled through the small opening. The hand wrapped in netting appeared after she dropped inside to grab her staff and pull it in. He heard the walker hiss before something crashed to the floor. A few minutes later her net was shoved against the window, filled with miscellaneous items. He pulled on it, mood lifting at the metal parts gleaming in the orange sun. Tucked inside was a boxed air filter. 

 

He couldn't stop the grin that lifted to his ears. Oh yes. Taking her was a _very_ good choice.

 

A few minutes more and she shimmied through the window clutching terry cloths and cleaning agent. Her eyes remained fixed on the dwindling sun, face carefully impassive, but the towels shivered in her grasp.

 

“We have to go back now.”

 

He blinked slowly at the unmistakably British cadence to her nervous words. At a loss for anything to say, he kicked a zombie stumbling towards him and tossed the net into the Jeep, barely waiting for her to hop in before the tires burned skid marks on the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments :)


	3. peachy

Apparently Buck and his men had stumbled upon a record store the girl called home. When she opened her damaged barricade over the door, he saw the body of a man who had managed to crawl in after her. For a small, nervous thing, she seemed to know her way around the knife her fingers could barely wrap around. 

 

A few ropes dangled from banisters across the room. He spotted a hammock in the corner of the ceiling where the rafters met, old blankets dangling over their heads. The girl pulled the dead body out into the dust before he wheeled his stalled motorcycle through the door. He kicked the stand down past the aisles of abandoned records. She held her clothes up in the dim light- all torn and useless. Her sneakers barely had soles. She frowned and tied the long nightgown until it bunched at her knees.

 

“You got a name, kid?” Ben asked. 

 

He flipped open his pack of cigarettes. The staleness was rather unpleasant, but it itched the scratch. There was a battery operated record player set up where a cash register used to be, records propped against the box. He bent at the waist to peruse the items collected behind the counter. A couple of banged up cans of food tucked between useless record players. He grabbed one, halved peaches, and cracked it open on the counter with a smack. 

 

She pushed hair out of her eyes to see him. Her frown deepened as he dug his fingers into the syrupy fruit. Orange rays of light stretched across her face from between the wood planks on the windows.

 

“Rey.”

 

She watched the tip of his cigarette glow, fidgeting with a long sleeve. Blood spotted through on her forearm. He popped peaches into his mouth.

 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rey. Any other thieving children I need to worry about stealing what’s mine?”

 

“I’m fifteen,” she snapped.

 

His eyes widened in mock emotion. “My apologies.”

 

Syrup dripped onto the counter and seeped into the scratches there. Several hundred tick marks were engraved in neat formation on the old wood. He licked his fingers clean before unlatching the leather sheath from his belt and dropping it next to the hunting knife. 

 

“As promised, the knife is yours. I think I’ll stay here for the night, if you don’t mind.” He grabbed her last can and crushed the top open. She glared and clenched her fists as he tossed back baked beans. 

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, spider monkey,” he chided, “no point wasting energy on something you can’t prevent.” He took in her tiny frame, grinning at his clever nickname. Her limbs were long, her body not yet fully grown into them. He doubted such a small person could ever get him to do anything.

 

Rey huffed before turning away, tossing her torn shirt to the dusty floor. She hopped onto one of the record cupboards and hoisted herself up one of the ropes, climbing onto a rafter. Her fingertips trailed on the ceiling as she walked to her hammock, flopped in and pulled the blankets around her. She turned her body to watch him when he rifled through the seat compartment on his bike. It was too dark for him to start any repairs, so he grabbed his worn whetstone and settled against the wall with his sword.

 

The blankets above him rustled and the smallest snore echoed as Rey fell asleep to the rhythmic grainy shift of metal on stone. Her ability to shut off from the world was admirable. He tested his blade with the pad of his thumb. It had gotten dull in recent months. Too many hordes. Too many stupid men.

 

Unless he was lucky, Hux would know he had been here. 

 

Unless she was lucky, Hux would throw her to the wolves if he got his hands on her.

 

Ben watched the hammock sway with her tiny twitches. Such promise in such a little being. He’d be wise to nurture it.

 

\---

 

Rey jerked awake from a sudden shriek, her hammock swinging. The motorcycle was gone, and Ben with it. The door was wide open, dust shimmering in the morning sunlight. She waited with baited breath as rustling neared the doorway. Angry at the man who’d stolen her food, she hadn’t thought to grab the hunting knife before she went to sleep. Her stomach ached in protest at its extreme lack of contents. 

 

Ben’s giant shoulders blocked the light, his sword drawn. He bent to grab her ruined shirt from the floor and wiped at his blade.

 

“Time to get up, monkey,” he called. Then he was gone again. His voice was wild, like the first time they had met. Bloodlust was thick on his tongue. Rey slipped from her perch on the rafters, dreading stepping outside. She slung her staff onto her back, grasped the sheathed hunting knife in her hands and squinted as she shuffled outside. She swallowed hard at the sight in front of her.

 

Rey had seen dismembered bodies before, people eaten alive, plenty of zombies walking without half of their body parts. But the dead were compelled by instinct, insatiable hunger, even if she didn’t understand it. This in front of her was...abhorrent. A man, freshly dead, leaked onto the dust below from a myriad of stabs through his body. Some fingers were bent, some missing completely. A shoulder slanted at an awkward angle, and bone poked through his pants. A cloth gag hung loosely around his neck.

 

The source of the noise was found.

 

Ben straddled his bike, tightening his helmet. It was black with a simple silver pattern painted around the visor. He looked like a specter. When he flipped the visor it broke her from her sleepy daze.  She tried not to stare at him, but she didn’t know where else to look that wouldn’t make her nauseous.

 

“That there is Mitch,” he said when she didn’t move. “You’re welcome to stay, but Mitch’s friends aren’t too kind. They’ll be here within an hour.”

 

Panic gripped her. She hadn't travelled past the mall across the river in years. Even then, the long stretch of highway was dangerous: no trees to hide in, and the longer she stayed away from home, the less likely her parents would be able to find her.

 

Meeting anyone this far away from military compounds would almost certainly be unsavory. Whatever kind of man this strange giant was, he had to be better than the ones she had met last night. He gave her the knife, after all. Fair pay for fair work- she’d saved him a lot of hurt by helping him repair his bike. Mitch must have deserved it. 

 

Her fingers lingered on her arm again before she jumped on the back of the bike, gripping his leather jacket in her fist as the cat howled beneath her in greeting. 

 

A few days to allow whoever was coming to pass through, then she would loop around and come back to her home. Her parents would understand.

 

\---

 

They stopped at the mall again. The bike echoed across the near empty parking lot as he cut the engine. She tilted her head at him in confusion. Shouldn’t they be running? He barked a laugh, popping off his helmet and settling it on the seat in front of her. 

 

“You don’t want to run around all of the South in that, do you?” 

 

Rey frowned. He obviously thought she would be joining him indefinitely. She let it slide. A companion was not something she desired nor needed, but better to let the man focus on his own assumptions. It wouldn't make a difference once she left him in a few days.

 

He knocked on the window then entered the clothing store, beheading a walker that reached for him. It had always been swamped with the undead, so she’d never had a chance to see inside. Her eyes widened when she followed him over rotting bodies and through the glass door.

 

A few clothing stands were knocked over, but if she ignored the dust and corpses it looked almost the same as it would have before the dead started walking. She ran her fingers over the slightly dusty clothes, hundreds of options suddenly at her fingertips. She took her pick of the soft materials, piling them on her arm. Ben was behind the counter, something rattling in a box he’d grabbed from a dried out corpse. He opened his pistol and spun the cylinder, refilling it with a satisfied sigh. 

 

Rey grabbed a box of running shoes from the wall that were her size. When she had slipped one of them on, Ben passed her and shook his head.

 

“You’ll grow out of those in a few months.” He scanned the wall then dropped a box next to her. They were leather boots with laces up the calves, two sizes up. He walked away, skimming through mens’ shirts before stripping his jacket and the T-shirt she had sliced through. She snapped her face away from his naked torso and ran to one of the dressing rooms, pulling on her new clothes until she was fully layered. 

 

The high waisted jeans felt strange compared to her old pants, but they would last a long time and she could move her legs easily in them. She tucked in her undershirt and rolled the long sleeved henley to her elbows, wincing at the scabs forming on her arm. She observed her reflection, smiling at the knife’s rightful place on her hip. Her hair was a sore sight. Her mother would have scolded her for letting it get so dirty. She untied the buns she had probably done weeks ago and combed through the mess with her fingers, then rewrapped them in piles on her head. What she wouldn't give for a bath. 

 

She met Ben at the bike, her toes flopping in her new boots. They were heavy, but malleable enough she would still be able to climb. He was kicking at a walker that had stumbled too close. He pointed at a leather jacket that wasn’t his slung next to his helmet. Protection against the wind, he said. Made sense. When he glanced up at her she froze. His eyes lingered on the angry red spots dotting her arm, but he didn't mention them.

 

“Well look at you,” he murmured, “there’s a young woman in there after all.”

 

She glared as Ben shoved a canvas backpack at her chest. She peeked through the zipper- a bottle of peroxide, some random pills, bandages, and a box of pistol ammo. Food. _Gold mine_. 

 

She opened her mouth to speak, but the image behind him made her squeak. He frowned at her panic and turned to watch the underbrush shiver. He rolled his shoulders. A light sheen of sweat glinted on his forehead from the heat.

 

“Fix your arm up. Can't have my scavenger getting a fever.” 

 

He drew his sword and sauntered to meet the wave of dead emerging from the trees.


	4. kill it, if you have to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating from my phone in an airport, pls forgive any grammatical errors lol
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Ben Solo was fucking crazy.

 

Her father would berate her for using that word. He was a psychologist, and _crazy_ perpetuated mental stigmas that made his job harder to help his patients. 

 

But her father wasn't here. In his stead was a man currently slicing through a zombie he had pinned to the wall, dissecting it bone by bone while it snapped its jaws.

 

Not to worry, he’d told Rey, he took the teeth out first so it was harmless. He watched her in amusement as she continued her nightly routine of finding the tallest surface in the house to sleep on. Preferably away from the kitchen Ben had turned into an operating room.

 

She was wary the first two nights, ready to run if he showed signs of wanting more from her like the others, but the only time they were close to touching was on his motorcycle. He was mostly silent during the day, hidden beneath his helmet and the growl of the bike. Their meager conversations consisted of which abandoned building to hole up in for the night or when he wanted her to crawl through tiny nooks in search of food- all while calling her _sweetheart_ or _monkey_. 

 

She remembered what monkeys at the zoo looked like. It was _not_ a compliment.

 

When night fell he would clear a perimeter. At first she took his eagerness to fell any dead nearby for hatred of the things- unless they were approaching, it was a waste of energy to kill ones who hadn't noticed them- but he _enjoyed_ it. He glanced her way often as if to gauge her reaction, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe he wanted to show Rey she was safe, but that contradicted with every time he helped push her through broken glass and cement walls that looked ready to collapse.

 

And dissecting a zombie in front of her did not elicit feelings of _safety_ and warmth.

 

She found her sleeping space- a ledge in the foyer next to a rotting staircase. She kicked dead potted plants out of her way, watching with satisfaction as the ceramics shattered and dirt spilled onto stained carpet. 

 

Ben's head peeked through to see her crouching on the ledge. 

 

“Monkey,” he warned, “don't insult Louie. We're guests in his house.”

 

“Stop calling me that,” Rey snapped. 

 

“What should I call you, then?” he looked at the shattered pots. “Kitten?” 

 

She growled and swung off the ledge. “Why are you so insufferable? Fucking psychopath!” 

 

“Big words for a little lady.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust as he wiped his gorey hands on a rag.

 

“Why are you doing that? You could just leave them alone.”

 

Ben narrowed his eyes. “You one of those Paragons of Renewal?”

 

“N-no, I just think you’re being cruel. They used to be people.  It shouldn’t be enjoyable to kill them.” 

 

Any semblance of bemusement was sapped from his face. Pottery crackled into the carpet under his boots, his glare pinning her in place. He stopped dangerously close. “They’re _dead_. They can’t be killed. Thought you smarter than that, kid.”

 

Rey clenched her fists. “You don’t see me picking them apart and destroying anything that moves. I’ve survived just fine on my own, my way.”

 

“You’re afraid,” he murmured.

 

“I’m not afraid of them. They’re slow and-”

 

“You’re afraid of being truly alone. They're dead.”

 

She opened her mouth to unleash her rage, but it remained corked in her belly. He wasn't talking about the dead anymore. 

 

Her only reply was weak and cracked.

 

“I’m going back tomorrow. I’ve already been gone too long.”

 

She channelled her anger into her feet as she stomped to the second floor, rotted floorboards groaning. She could find another spot to sleep, as far away from him as possible.

 

\---

 

Night fell slowly, but Rey refused to leave the corner bedroom she claimed as her own. A rickety wardrobe sat opposite to the door, large enough for her to curl on top of it to sleep. She stripped most of her layers and bunched them into a pillow, the summer heat causing sweat to pool under the leather jacket. She found a couple books and idley skimmed through them until the letters bled into the grey pages in the dim light.  Rustling and creaks as Ben moved throughout the house echoed, and soon she settled on top of the wardrobe to sleep.

 

It wasn’t until those creaks became louder that she was pulled from her deep sleep. The floorboards groaned in the hall. Rey wiped at her eyes, resentment for Ben boiling to the surface. Whatever apology he may have for her, she wouldn’t accept it. She was leaving in the morning, back to the familiar dusty records to await people who actually cared for her.

 

“Go away, Ben,” she said when the creaks approached her half open door. The door hinges whined as he continued towards her slowly. Annoyed, she spun around to give him a piece of her mind.

 

“I told you to leave m-” she shrieked as a hand grabbed her foot, pulling her from her perch. They toppled over and she rolled away, cringing as her shoulder took the brunt of the fall. A raspy moan filled the room and dread pitted in her stomach. Her hand slapped her hip to draw her knife, but it was gone. Her staff wasn’t where she had left it either, leaning on the wardrobe. More creaks echoed from the hall and the zombie in front of her slowly stood, its hollow face exaggerated in the dim moonlight streaming from the large window behind her. She got to her knees and yanked on the cracked windowpane, kicking at the zombie’s legs when it got too close. Her hands were shaking too hard- she was never this unprepared. A whimper escaped her throat as the hisses from the hall grew louder. She kicked the zombie hard, covered her face and barrelled into the window.

 

The world flipped upside down with the deafening sound of shattering glass. Pain lanced through her shoulder as she hit the roof. Her fingers found the cool metal of the rain gutter, but it gave way under her weight and she crashed to the ground. Black spots sprouted in her vision, the breath knocked out of her lungs on impact. She coughed around the sting in her chest. She heard a low whistle to her right.

 

Ben sat on the top of a stalled SUV, feet dangling over the side while he whittled away at something in his hands. “What an exit.”

 

Rey wheezed, struggling to suck air into her lungs. She crawled away from the front porch. One zombie was crawling through the shattered window. It rolled off the rooftop and landed where she had been moments before, pausing before it began to clamber to its feet.

 

“Ben,” she whimpered. 

 

He looked up from his project. His eyes darkened when she looked at her staff- safely tucked at his side. He made no move to help her. She scrambled through the overgrown gravel, another zombie smacking into the ground behind her. Moans drifted from the opened front door. He’d _led_ them to her.

 

“Why?” she choked. 

 

“Helping you face your fear.”

 

“I’m not afraid of them!” she screamed. She flipped onto her back. The fine rocks on the driveway scored her exposed skin, nipped at her thin tank top. The closest undead reached for her limbs and she lashed out at its knees.

 

“You were, what...five when the first outbreak happened? Of course you’re not afraid of _them_ , you’ve been around the dead your whole life.”

 

“Then _why_?!”

 

“You’re afraid of what they represent,” Ben said. His voice was a low rumble, barely detectable over the growing moans in front of her. “You know this world, Rey. Whoever you were waiting for in Jakku County, they’re never coming back.”

 

“You’re wrong,” she sobbed. 

 

She screamed as her ankle was grabbed again. The remnants of a sweater clung to the zombie crawling onto her legs. Tears clung to her lashes. Her dad loved argyle sweaters. She lifted a foot and bashed him in the face, watched the cheekbone cave and teeth clatter to the ground. Her heart squeezed. Her father was _not_ one of these wretched things.

 

But if he wasn’t...why did it hurt so much, these million what-ifs? They couldn’t be dead. But if that were the case, where were they?

 

“You’re a survivor. You could be in a quarantine zone by now if you’d left that dusty record store years ago.”  

 

Her foot connected with bone and broke through the skull. The zombie collapsed in a useless pile on her legs. Pillars of rot were limping from the home, yearning for her flesh. She would be overwhelmed in seconds. Whatever Ben had in his hands glinted in pale moonlight, and he tossed it to her. Thick bone sharpened to a point landed near her head.

 

“Let your past die, Rey. Let go.”

 

The next sack of flesh tumbled over the body pinning her. Rey yelped, pushing on its forehead to prevent its snapping jaws from finding its mark on her soft belly. The skin peeled away from its skull like film. Her left arm stretched. Fingers brushed smooth bone and she swung her hand forward. The makeshift knife slid easily through the underside of its jaw and it fell limp. She cried out with the effort of pulling herself from under the weight of their bodies. Another zombie tripped as her left foot slipped free and her bone knife found its way through an eye socket. 

 

Rey stumbled to her feet. A weight crashed into her, shoving her against the SUV Ben watched from. She grit her teeth at the pain that lanced through her injured shoulder as she pushed at the chest of another zombie. Bone clashed against bone, but her second strike found an opening in the back of its skull, and it joined the others on the gravel.

 

The night mixed with the flash of white in her knuckles through her bleary vision. The rasp of her breath echoing in her empty chest and the moans of the undead synthesized to white noise, a toneless tune accompanying the bass of her thudding heart. When her muscles threatened to give from dodging grasping limbs, she threw her weight into them, collapsing into a pile of flesh that melded with her own under spraying guts and congealed blood. One cracked sternum faded into the next crumbling spinal chord until the knife embedded in the last body under her. It twitched with its last brain waves, and the white noise dissolved. The frantic beating in her chest slowed. She realized she was no longer crying- the tracks under her eyes nearly dried.

 

A feather light touch on her shoulder made her flinch. Her hand struck out for another kill, but her arm was held in place. Long warm fingers grazed over the straps of her undershirt, glided down her fevered skin and gently curled around her wrists.

 

“Don't touch me,” she croaked. She tried to jerk away from him, but his grip was a pair of iron shackles.

 

“You want me to make your decision for you?” 

 

Her arms were folded against her chest and she was lifted from festering flesh to her toes. She swayed on doeish legs. Warm breath puffed against her ear.

 

“If you try to run, I'll snap your femurs from your thighs and start a knife collection,” Ben murmured.

 

Rey shivered. Her legs finally gave. An arm swept under her knees and she was hoisted to his chest. Through the gore smeared on her, she smelled leather and oil and remnants of cigarette smoke. Moments later the crunch of Ben’s steps muffled, and rough fabric met the exposed skin of her back. She drifted, watching the glowing cherry of a cigarette as he reclined on the dining table.

 

She woke the next morning to scratching. A zombie stared at her through the sliding door across from her, its maw agape as it clawed at the glass with jagged nails. She lifted herself from the couch; Ben was visible through the front door window, a sliver of white in his large fumbling fingers, slowly mending a tear in his leather jacket. Her staff lay on the coffee table beside her folded clothes and backpack, red hunting knife now properly sheathed at her hip.

 

Her hands shook, but she gripped the hilt and pulled. She let the glass barrier slide free, and the knife found its home between the dead’s eyes.


	5. some sand

They stopped to eat next to a moderately deep stream, hidden from the highway but within short walking distance. Rey slipped her soiled tank from under her other shirt, dunking it in the clear waters. Her boot sank into thick mud when she stepped lower on the rocks to better wash the cloth. It must have rained heavily days ago, for the remnants of a mudslide across the water were still evident. A few trees stabbed the water’s surface, their upturned roots visible on the broken shore.

Ben downed his can of potato soup then sat near her, swishing his fingers through the stream until they were clean.

She had refused to speak to him the past day, opting to let him choose where they stopped. Her curiosity, however, got the best of her. She needed information, something to go off to illustrate her escape.

“Where are we going?”

Ben picked his teeth with his bone needle, watching as the current pulled the grime in her tank top away.

“Virginia.”

This was good. She had time to find an out before they reached his destination. Rey remembered the old map her mother kept hidden in her backpack. Most safe havens were in coastal cities, if they still existed at all.

“What’s in Virginia?”

He frowned slightly in concentration.

“Family reunion.”

“And why am I coming with?”

He stared at her a heartbeat too long and his large lips lifted.

“You're good company.” 

Fine. He could keep his motive from her, it mattered little in the end. Returning to her old record store felt like a distant craving but leaving him was not. He split the food they found evenly and continued letting her carry their medicines, which both baffled and eased her mind- who would allow their hostage the possibility to run away with such valuable supplies? She refused to let it blind her to his threat last night, which was still fresh in her memory.

As at ease as he seemed around her, this was still the man who threatened her life. The first time they met he had probably intended to run her through. Sure, her scavenging came in handy nowadays, but he would leave her the moment things got hairy. That was the way of the world.

_He is not your friend, he is your captor._

She scrubbed at her tank, repeating the mantra in her head. Ben sighed and pushed off from his perch on the rocks, empty food can in hand.

“There’s a boat shed down the way, I’ll clear it while you clean yourself up. Don’t forget behind your ears, monkey,” he called. She glared at his leather clad back as he followed the stream where, in the distance, a small wooden structure sat.

She turned to the bike propped behind her, seat compartment still full. Her fingers twitched in agitation. It was as if he was testing her. A few minutes with the wires, and she could be miles away from him. 

That's as far as she would go, though. Dangerously low on gas, she'd stall within an hour in an unfamiliar place, and he would find her. She had seen him snuff five armed men out in minutes- unless she had a plan, he would have no trouble tracking a young girl. As kind as he acted, she didn't doubt he would uphold his promise to her if he caught her running.

Rey took a cursory glance in Ben's direction. Sensing no eyes on her, she shed the rest of her sweaty clothing and set to work rubbing furiously at the stains on her jeans. She wrung them tightly and laid each article on the rocks to bake in the sun before slipping into the water. It cooled her sun scorched skin. A shiver ran down her back when she tipped her hair in, the chill prickling her scalp. Her eyelids drooped at the warbling calls in the surrounding oaks layered over the static rush of the stream as she combed through her matted hair with her fingers. Dirt crept under her nails as she cleaned, but the murkiness squeezed from her hair lessened after her third diligent rinse. 

Her hands were fully wrinkled by the time she finished, the sun having reached the beginning of its descent into the tree line. The water’s surface was painted shades of orange and grey. She hummed a tune from her favorite record, noting with regret that she would probably never hear it again. She imagined it was still propped against the only record player she had gotten to work, collecting dust in its paper sheathe. 

A crack split the evening’s quiet. She froze at the rasping breaths that echoed in the clearing and suppressed a sigh. A zombie shuffled in the dark, dragging its feet through the sand. 

Rey glanced at her staff and knife, both resting beside her backpack among her neatly arrayed clothes. It would be easier to stay in the cool water a little longer and wait for it to pass. She dipped further into the stream, silt squishing between her toes. The current pulled at her limbs. Her hair drifted in front of her face as she lowered it to the water, her nose brushing the surface, and watched the walker shamble from a patch of bushes past the sleek bike. Her toes sank between rocks and grazed rough cloth-

She inhaled a mouthful of water as the rocks shifted and her foot sank into the cranny. The current splashed over her head and her arms flailed for purchase. Something latched around her leg, yanking her off kilter. She thrashed her arms forward, pushing against her unknown assailant and twisting in its grasp. She swam down, clawing through silt until her fingers found purchase on the rocks below, pulling her weight to shore. The thing dragged behind her, remaining attached to her like a leech.

Rey gasped for breath as soon as the water dropped to knee depth. Her eyes widened at the view behind her. 

It was a bloated mess. Silt and weeds made their home in every crevice that lacked skin and muscle. A torn jacket hung from its arms, the flannel pattern barely visible from the mud caking it. Intestines drooped from a gash in its abdomen. Its limbs were discolored and heavy with water. Pus leaked from small yellowed holes in its face where wildlife had begun to feast. The hand that grasped her was still intact and dug dangerously into her ankle, which grew numb from lack of circulation. 

The zombie crawled towards her as she felt the shore underneath her, desperate for a weapon. It lunged for her, its extra water weight shoving her under the surface into the mud. She found its shoulder and deflected. The fatty mess toppled beside her, its large hands grabbing at her hip. She held the zombie down with an arm on its bare sternum and felt for a large rock that had jammed into her thigh in the fall. Her fingertips closed around a large rock. She raised it and cracked it against the zombie's temple with a shout. Its jaws still snapped terrifyingly close to her elbow. She raised it again and struck, willing her lunch to stay in her stomach as the skull fractured. Two more hits and the hands dropped from her midsection twitching. She collapsed into the shallows with burning lungs.

She brushed the expanse of her body, searching for any scrapes or teeth marks. Aside from her ankle, which was already turning an angry purple, she was safe. She groaned when she felt the sandy mess caught in her hair. She set to rinsing it, the sun warming her now cold shoulders.

At least the body was leaking downstream from her.

Rey combed her hair again, humming to distract herself from the bloated nightmare behind her. The sound of a weight thumping to the forest floor caught her attention over her shoulder. Ben wiped his blade on the lurking zombie's t-shirt. He glanced her way, squinting into the sun that glared off the stream and her wet hair. She curled in on herself, glad for the water hiding her bottom half from view. He took in the body a few feet from her.

“Any cuts?” 

She shook her head, choosing to ignore his hushed tone. His gaze flitted down the expanse of her back before he pivoted in place to check his bike.

“Well, I'm betting you ain't part fish. Let's go, sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im not dead i swear just super busy  
> if you read feel my pulse expect an update for that soon too  
> <3


	6. teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief description of a rape and murder scene. Mild in my opinion, but no less disturbing.
> 
> I've rewritten so much of the next few chapters that at this point i need to let them breathe and see what people think lol

The bike ran on fumes the next morning, barely managing to sputter its way past abandoned cars and pavement damaged by years of neglect. The long expanse of highway withered to two lanes an hour before the bike finally gave its last tut. The trees enclosing the road gave Rey some relief in the unfamiliar area- plenty of places to hide or loop through to lose pursuers. Rey grit her teeth at the urge to leap into the woods and take her chances with the inevitable chase that would follow. The man clomping beside her silently fumed, his brow drawn in a scowl at whatever thoughts that plagued him.

 

Train tracks appeared in the distance. She squinted at a wooden sign latched to the crossing pole. Spray paint covered the sign in large letters that sharpened as they approached. 

 

SAFETY

 

An odd round symbol sat underneath. Ben ignored it, cursing as he pulled his stalled bike over the upturned tracks. Thick tree roots spilled over the rotting wood and browned metal. His helmet bounced in its place on the seat.

 

The sun reached its peak, beating on her cheeks as they followed the county road. The roar of cicadas swelled with the heat radiating from the pavement. She tied her leather jacket around her waist and rolled her sleeves, relishing the half-seconds of shade from overhanging branches. Rey watched the treeline, wary that she would be deaf to anything approaching, but they were alone.

 

The road seemed to continue for miles. The summer heat blurred the black strip in the distance. She wiped at the sweat beading on her forehead and sighed, mentally bracing herself for the endless trek, but Ben halted. He kicked the bike stand and glared at the woods around them, crunching through pine needles and twigs as he was swallowed by the shade. He crouched and scanned the distance, hand brushing over the mossy forest floor. Rey rolled her eyes and sipped at their rationed water. He was a leather clad, sword wielding biker who was also a tracker, apparently. What he was looking for, she wasn't sure.

 

Seemingly satisfied, Ben straightened and returned, snatching the water bottle from her and quenching his throat before rolling the bike into the woods. 

 

They walked for another half hour before a structure appeared in the distance. It was a metal wall, moss and vines crawling along its dull surface. They followed the barricade before they came upon a car. The windows were shattered, a body propped against the steering wheel as if sleeping. It moved as they approached, grey eyes watching them, and moaned. Ben easily dispatched it, wiping his blade on its shirt before popping the trunk. His eyebrows raised and he grunted. He slicked his hair away from his eyes, tying it back in a haphazard knot, and lifted a gas can from the car trunk. He murmured a perfect under his breath and grabbed his siphoning tube from the bike's seat compartment. Rey stepped around the car, noting a giant hole in the barricade. The metal was bent inward as if it had been rammed into by something heavy. A symbol emblazoned on the car door caught her attention. 

 

The spray paint was flaking, its red pigment faded to pale rust. It was a round, abstract symbol that reminded her of a bird. The tips of its wings met the angular head at the top of the ring.

 

“What's that?”

 

Ben glanced up from the siphoning tube in his hand, rubbing his nose.

 

“A private sect that separated from the government when mass civilian deaths were leaked. The ‘Resistance,’” he huffed at the name and sucked on the tube, spitting out the gasoline that flooded his mouth when it began to flow.

 

Rey stared at the symbol. “The sign at the tracks said they have a compound nearby.” She tried not to let her hope shine through.

 

Ben's lips quirked. He nodded to the giant gash in the rusty metal wall beside them. “This _was_ their compound, sunshine.” 

 

She stiffened at her new nickname. Nothing seemed to make this man nervous- not the zombie left in the car, the blatant hole in the wall or the eerie emptiness of the forest around them. The cicadas swelled again as the sun peeked through a cloud. A beautiful day, but her stomach sank as she stepped between the jagged panels.

 

It was a small enclosure, with only a home, a garage and a small shed. From a plot of lush grass sprouted a singular tree with a tire swing dangling from a thick branch. She recalled a distant memory of sprinklers and vibrant green. The house was a simple box with white siding and grey shingles. Nine bodies were pinned to the sides of the home with pikes and stakes. Rey slapped a hand over her mouth in revulsion.

 

Without the shade of the forest, the sun blazed in the clearing. Rot permeated the hot air. The bodies were fresh, decay just beginning to settle into the zombies’ gaunt flesh. Jaws snapped lazily at her presence. She willed her nerves to settle at the sight of the bites littered on their bodies. No amount of moss or layers of dust lingered. A few vehicles were abandoned on a dirt road leading to their gate, doors left flung open. A neighborhood street lined with small homes and trees could be seen through the haze. 

 

Her hope trickled from her chest like the scant amount of gas that now dripped into Ben's can. He cursed, shaking the last drops out before winding the tube around his shoulder and stepping through the panels. His easy expression faltered at the sight of the house before he collected himself.

 

“Check that house, will ya? Gonna try and drain that truck there.” 

 

The steps squeaked as Rey climbed. The white painted door was left ajar, the screen door torn and hanging on one hinge. The inside was in no better state. Furniture was broken apart, loose floorboards scattered on the upturned rug that revealed the scaffolding of the home. She scanned the kitchen. The drawers were open, their contents emptied on the linoleum. Only a smashed jar of rice remained. Her fingers skimmed along smooth wood as she scaled the stairs, drinking in the pale blue and green wallpaper. Portraits of a smiling family followed her ascent, filled with clean sweaters and white teeth and bright eyes. Two bedrooms, one in shades of blue, the bed flipped and books strewn across the floor. Baby murals decorated the entrance to the other adjacent to a white bathroom. The edge of the porcelain sink was dirtied with a layer of dried blood. Rey swiped a slot of matches abandoned on the counter then turned the handle to the only door closed in the house.

 

Pink flooded her sights. The walls were soft, a sun chair next to the window a dark fuchsia. Curled on a bed patterned with strawberries was a young girl. Her head turned when the door creaked. Colorless eyes met Rey's and she froze. The belt around the girl's neck was taut, looped tightly around the metal bed post. Her pajamas were tattered, her blond hair muddied by a deep gash on her temple. The corpse hissed and snapped, her body twisting unnaturally in her binds as it reached for Rey. She tumbled from the sheets, hisses straining as the zombie pulled herself towards Rey. The bed frame creaked and scraped against the wood floor. Rey stumbled into the hall, bile rising to the back of her throat. Dizzying nausea peaked as she fled the home. The smell outside was overpowering. The question on Ben's lips died as Rey lurched, vomiting the meager amount of water in her stomach. He approached her silently, observing the bodies pinned outside before disappearing through the wrecked entry. Another wave of nausea hit and Rey choked on phlegm. 

 

It helped to breathe through her mouth, but only just. Ben's heavy boots thumped on the porch. He slid the rest of his blade into its sheath with a somber expression. Rey held the matches up for him, spitting the bitterness from her mouth. The corner of the cardboard was folded in and worried along the edge. He stared at them, refusing to take the little pack from her.

 

“You see those again,” he finally said, “you tell me. Got it?”

 

The slight tremor in his voice chilled her. Someone had phased him.


	7. trigger happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi xoxo

Rey’s head throbbed in time with the cicadas singing in the afternoon sun. Her stomach rumbled in protest to the pickled fish turning in her stomach. Rey swallowed her spit, hoping it would wash away the briny flavor sticking to her taste buds. She hated sardines. 

The aspirin in her backpack rattled as she climbed over a downed tree. It had grown rather light within these two days with no scavenged food to replenish their rations. Whoever had blown through the area days before had been thorough- boot prints littered the dusty innards of each home. Lots of them. Every cupboard, wardrobe and closet was stripped of any valuables.

Through her discomfort she watched with equal awe and annoyance as Ben hoisted his heavy bike over the trunk. He refused to leave it behind, insisting on dragging it over the debris that prevented him from riding it. It was an excruciating walk; no water, a littered winding road Ben also insisted on taking, and a can of mystery food they would end up splitting for dinner if they didn’t find something else soon. 

They rounded a corner and slowed at the sight of yet another obstacle in their path. A massive oak severed a clear path through the woods to their left and lay across the cracked pavement. A brown roof top was visible through the vegetation. Ben cursed under his breath. He rolled to the side of the hill, surveying the steep drop on their right. Rey’s hopes plummeted when he drew a deep breath and shoved the front tire over the top of a thick branch.

Rey scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“Always,” he grunted on top of the tree.

Sweat trickled to the small of Rey’s back. She swiped at the moisture beading on her forehead, hands warm and tacky. The droning buzz of the forest picked at her eardrums. Her staff made a hollow _thunk_ as she tossed it to the ground. She yanked on her jacket sleeve, whipping the leather off of her back and dropping her things in the dust. She pulled her henley off as well, wiping her face before dropping it in the pile. For added measure, Rey kicked at the leather sleeve.

Ben side-eyed her tantrum. “That was a gift,” he said.

“Fuck you,” she snapped.

He quirked a brow, squatting next to his bike awkwardly perched on rotting branches.

“Sunshine’s got a rain cloud over her head today, hm?”

“If I had a rain cloud I wouldn’t be so fucking thirsty right now.”

Ben breathed deeply through his nose as if to calm himself. “Some days are hard on the road. This way is safer.”

“Why is it safer?”

He didn’t answer, instead turning to stare into the deep green foliage below. The girl puffed air onto her heated cheeks and swung up behind him, following the tree into the woods.

“I’m checking that house while you take your time.”

Ben hummed noncommittally, stretching his arms to the sky and laying across the trunk.

It was a strange home to Rey. Many of the walls were full length glass encased by cement slabs. She walked through one panel that had long been shattered. The inside must have been pretty years ago, the furniture maybe once a pristine white instead of the moldy green-brown adopted from the forest. Sliding doors lead to an office with an abandoned computer and a floating staircase. Another hall led to the kitchen with bay windows behind a metal table. She peered out the shattered window, spotting Ben still lounging in the shade in the distance. Her search of the cupboards proved fruitless. The laundry room had become a home to snakes she would rather not walk near; she closed that door quickly.

Rey slumped into a metal chair, the legs grating against the floor echoing in the room. It was much cooler indoors. The cicadas were somewhat muted. She laid her arms across the table, sighing when the cool metal touched her forehead. Birds chirped just outside the home. She let her eyelids slide close. She could feel her parched throat slowly tightening. If Ben needed her, he could come find her. It felt good to rest.

Just as her limbs loosened and her mind drifted with the birds outside, glass crunched behind her.

She kicked away from the chair and crouched near the laundry door, knife poised to stab anything close to her. A man stood in the doorway, his hand hovering over his holstered pistol. His black hair was short and twisted tightly to his scalp, dark skin gleaming in the sunlight filtered through the glass.

“I don't want any trouble,” he whispered, raising his hands. When Rey said nothing, he wet his lips.

“I’ve got two bullets left, and I’d rather not use them on the first stranger I’ve seen in weeks.”

He pulled a sack from his shoulder and rummaged through it. He drew a can and offered it to the girl huddled on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Are you hungry?”

Rey's stomach bellowed in reply. He gave a nervous smile, warm like the sunlight streaking over them. Against her better judgement, the tension in her shoulders eased. She approached him slowly, snatching the can and turning it in her hand. Yams. She eyed the man as he swung the burlap over his shoulder, thankfully keeping his hands in sight. Perspiration soaked through his layers under his arms and chest, jeans tucked into military style boots. His voice was slightly jarring after being immersed in Ben’s low southern drawl- definitely not from around here.

He shuffled in place, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

“My name is Finn. What's yours?”

“I'm Rey.”

Finn gave a cursory glance to the home around them.

“Where you travelling from?”

“...Texas.”

He nodded. “Where you headed? East, yeah?”

Rey shrugged. His brow pinched in concern. 

“You traveling alone?” 

He had no other weapon apart from the pistol on his hip. She stared at him, ready to dive past him if he moved too quickly. _No one_ would travel with only a handgun if they were alone. Rey bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of the answer to give. 

Finn seemed to take her silence as an answer. “I’m with a group...they aren’t the nicest of people, but you pull your weight, you get a meal and shelter for the night. You could join us, if you wanted.”

Stillness stretched between them. Her breath caught in her throat. This was the moment she had been searching for- her out, an escape from the hellish partnership she’d been subjugated to. Now that it lay before her, indecision crippled her. People were dangerous. She knew what the men in Texas intended to do before Ben had bulldozed into the picture. Would they be the same? 

Finn’s imploring brown eyes made her alarmingly optimistic.

“Rey!”

Finn froze, eyes darting to the shattered kitchen window facing the road. His eyes widened when Ben called her name again. He wet his lips before speaking in a low whisper.

“I-is that…”

Rey nodded. Finn swallowed hard in response. He turned his body to the hallway as if he were ready to bolt. She raised a placating hand. He couldn’t leave, not without her.

“I’ll go to him, you can...wait here?”

He nodded slowly. The fright in his eyes had yet to fade as he flattened himself against the concrete wall. She hurried past him to the open panel of glass as Ben called her name again. Ben turned to her when she rounded the corner and held out her bag. Her discarded clothing were draped over his arm. 

“Let’s go,” he said, combing his hair out of his face and stifling a yawn. She grabbed her backpack, fumbling for an excuse. 

“I haven’t finished clearing-”

Twigs snapped under weight beside them. Ben spun, shoving Rey behind him, gun pulled halfway from its holster as two figures emerged from the brush. One held a bat embedded with nails, the other a loaded crossbow. The man with the crossbow aimed at the ground and lifted a hand. 

“Easy, fella. We heard a shout and came to help.”

“No help needed,” Ben replied coldly. 

The man tilted his head. Two rabbits hung from his belt swayed as he shifted his weight. 

“Fair enough. Can’t say we didn’t try.”

He spotted Rey as she peeked from behind Ben’s frame. He took in her form carefully, a smile spreading across his bearded face. Rey became increasingly aware of her exposure in her thin tank top. The mostly healed welts on her forearm tingled and she shivered.

“Why, hello. This your daug-”

A crack split the air. The cicadas halted like an interrupted record as the man's head jerked, red spraying from his temple. The man with the bat yelled, tumbling away as his companion's body thumped on the grass. He backed into the brush as Ben stomped towards him, hand clenching the hilt of his sword. Rey stumbled forward, fingers slipping from the hem of his jacket as the sword glinted in the sun. Her bag dropped to the ground.

“Wait-”

Ben avoided the man’s swing with ease and slashed from above. The blade sank into the man's shoulder to the bone. His scream cut off as Ben embedded it through his neck. His jaw loosened and he fell to the ground. Ben bent to wipe the metal clean. The loudness of the forest returned to a buzz as nausea rose from Rey's stomach. The man’s body jerked in place, eyelids slackening.

“Why did you do that?!”

“Do I really need to explain that to you?” Ben said.

Rey glared. “They could have been friendly.”

Ben lifted a shoulder lazily. “Maybe.” He pulled the crossbow from the dead man’s limp grasp, tested its view, then tossed it into the bushes.

“He wasn’t aiming at us when they approached.”

“Not so smart when the stranger has a gun, ain't it?” He flung the rabbits over his shoulder. “‘Daughter,’” he muttered, “how old do I fucking look?”

She studied Ben, never having considered the question. His scarred limbs were testament to many hardships, but his face was rather youthful. A scruffy goatee covered his chin. His forehead was crinkled, but it was more so pinched by his perpetual scowl rather than age. The slightest hint of crows feet marked the corners of his eyes.

“Forty,” she hissed in spite.

His mouth twitched and he rubbed his jaw. “C’mon now, I was your age fourteen years ago. Find anything?”

She didn’t dare move her eyes to the man watching from the shadows. She lifted the can of yams still clenched her hand.

Ben sighed. He waved toward the dirt road. 

“Let's clear the next and hole up. Any rotters in the distance’ll be here by sundown. And take your damn clothes.”

Rey picked up her bag, sneaking a glance at the shattered kitchen window. Finn stared at Ben’s retreating back, hand frozen over his mouth, the only gun of his group shaking in the other. His gaze met hers and he lowered it to his side. She ran before Ben could turn to goad her.

\---

Rey sat on the porch banister of their chosen fortress of the night dragging the end of her staff through the dirt in meandering circles. Her stomach growled. Ben skinned their dinner for the night, another skill added to the list she had mentally compiled of him.

“How did you know where to find the compound?”

Ben gestured with her bloody knife in front of her, not bothering to lift his eyes from the carcass splayed on the wire table. He pulled at the fur and it left the body with a wet snap.

Rey frowned and turned. She scanned her surroundings, raking over the fence, the house. There were no signs, no paint like at the tracks. She sighed and opened her mouth to ask him when the birch tree directly in front of her caught her eye.

The bark looked normal, crackled with dark beneath the sheets of white, but a distortion existed in the organic pattern. A symbol was carved and smoothed into the surface. Her fingertips grazed the border. She crouched and pointed her body to where they came from, scanning the trunks from the same level. She squinted and- there was another perfect dark dot on a birch in the distance, almost far enough for her eyes to miss it. Ben's voice drifted to her though the cicadas.

“Details are there if you know where to look, sunshine.”

Her eyes met his. He flashed her a wry grin. Rey twisted away from the swish of the knife sliding through the rabbit's flesh.


End file.
